


Win/Win

by versaphile



Series: Game Theory [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, Episode: s03e13 Last of the Time Lords, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-11
Updated: 2007-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 13:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versaphile/pseuds/versaphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every plan has to start somewhere. Warning: Amazing amount of wrongness, mad science, mind games, and a side of horror. Oh, and the Doctor is pregnant. Crackfic AU. Proceed at your own risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The best part of this, the Master decided, was that he now had the perfect excuse to stick long, painful needles into the Doctor's body whenever he felt like it. Womb pregnancy had been almost unheard of back when there had been a Gallifrey, and engineering a male pregnancy was incredibly dangerous. So much to the Master's enjoyment and the Doctor's suffering, there were endless tests, regular injections of various chemicals and hormones, and even implants surgically, delicately inserted into his guts. Most of it was even necessary.

He'd taken extraordinary delight in operating on the Doctor. It had been incredibly intimate, feeling him from the inside, having his life so utterly in his hands. One operation hadn't even been to make any changes at all; he'd just needed to see all that blood and pulsing life again, hold a beating heart in his hand and spend a long time deciding whether or not to squeeze it like an orange. The surgeon's art was almost better than the power rush of domination.

Almost.

No, he'd been wrong. The best part of this that the Doctor submitted willingly, even eagerly, to the Master's slightest whim. The Doctor _trusted_ him, _needed_ him. It suited his plans perfectly. And oh, he had such plans.

But every plan had to start somewhere.

* * *

"Take it out! Undo it!" the Doctor shouted, straining at the metal bindings. If he wasn't careful, he was going to break something, probably a blood vessel or a wrist. "This is wrong, it's impossible, you can't do this!"

"Oh, do shut up," the Master said. The Doctor had been going on like this for a while. It was a shame that the shock had worn off, because now the Doctor's usual tedious moralizing was back. Fortunately it had come with a healthy dose of fear. The Master loved feeling that through the Archangel link. The Doctor was, in fact, rather terrified.

He should be. Pregnancy was likely to kill him, unless the Master was very careful.

"I believe you need some time to think," the Master told him. He held up a needle and waved it in front of the Doctor's face. "Nighty-night," he said, and injected the sleeping drug. The Doctor's buzzing panic faded as his eyes rolled in his head and he went satisfyingly limp.

Perhaps he shouldn't have killed all the humans yet, the Master reflected, as he hauled the Doctor off the laboratory table and dragged him into the hallway. Keeping a few docile soldiers around, or even his failing Lucy, would have spared him the grunt work. Unfortunately, the Toclafane were not graced with subtlety. There was only one human left in the universe, and the Freak barely even qualified for that. 

He dumped the Doctor's naked body onto the floor of his new cell. It was rather nice for a prison, really. A soft bed, a small library, a private bath and even a little kitchenette. The president wasn't going to be needing his suite anymore. The Master had already taken care to remove anything sharp or useful for escaping, and even if the Doctor did get up to his old tricks, there were plenty of hidden cameras, and of course, he could see everything the Doctor thought, feel every emotion.

Trapping him in the Archangel network had been, if he said so himself, a stroke of genius. When he'd first caught the Doctor snooping around in there he'd been furious, but a moment's reflection had shown him the possibilities. When the Doctor stopped snooping and began actually weaving himself in, opening up billions of pathways into his normally guarded mind, it had been a hundred birthdays rolled into one. 

The Doctor's sheer need for him had been the cherry on top. A pathetic combination of survivor's guilt, loneliness, and lost friendship that would be almost too easy to exploit. But first things first.

* * *

When the Doctor woke up in a soft, warm bed, he fervently hoped it had all been a dream. Trapped in the deaths of billions of humans, forced to watch the Earth burn, and then... his hand flattened against his abdomen, and his eyes opened wide. He couldn't have. He must have been lying. Some twisted mind game, a trick to amuse himself. The Master couldn't have done something so... so _perverse_.

He had. Oh Rassilon, he _had_. What was he going to do?

"Oh, Martha," he whispered. "I'm so sorry." It had all gone pear-shaped in the worst way, and she'd looked so betrayed just before she'd died. He'd failed her, failed everyone. The screams still echoed in his mind, mingling with the screams of Time Lords and Daleks. Another race dead, and quite possibly this one hurt the worst.

There was still the paradox machine. If he could escape and figure out how to disable it, he was fairly sure this would all be undone. Back to 9:02 am, back to when there were still so many choices he could make. He knew the Master would have it heavily guarded, though, and he didn't have the key to his ship even if he could get past however many Toclafane surrounded it. Oh, his poor ship.

The weight of all the grief and horror made it hard to breathe, but he forced his lungs to do their job. No matter what had been lost, no matter what madness the Master had done to him, he would find a way to undo his failure. Whatever it cost.

He could feel the Master in his mind. Not pushing or probing, just a constant presence. Listening, watching, lurking like a very patient jungle cat. Perhaps he knew how exposed the Doctor's mind was, how easily he could move through it, so he didn't need to dig his claws in and tear him apart. The Doctor had struggled in vain to disentangle himself from the network once he'd realized his mistake, but after endless days of listening to humanity die his best efforts had failed. He'd expected a tremendous rush of psychic energy to pour into him and save him, but in taking down all his defences he'd made himself even more helpless. He struggled now to erect some kind of makeshift barriers, and to reinforce whatever walls still held. 

To his surprise, the Master didn't try to stop him. He was afraid of what that meant.

It was days before the Master appeared in the flesh. The Doctor had been sleeping fitfully when suddenly a hand spread against his belly, and he jolted awake.

"Good morning," the Master greeted, all toothy smiles. The Doctor was reminded of a particularly satisfied crocodile. He looked down to see that the sheets had been pushed aside, exposing his nakedness. He flushed and scooted away, pulling the bedclothes up as he did. It wasn't modesty, he told himself. It was just that the last thing he needed was to feel _more_ vulnerable.

"Some clothes would be nice," the Doctor said, pointedly. 

"Oh, did I forget about those?" the Master said, innocently. "I'm sure I can find something for you. Not sure what I did with that old suit of yours."

The Doctor suddenly, intensely missed that suit, and his coat, and his sonic. What he wouldn't give to have his sonic screwdriver back.

"Maybe if you're good," the Master told him.

"What's 'being good' in your world?" the Doctor asked, dryly. It wasn't as if he had any intention of being cooperative.

"I'm so glad you asked," the Master replied, settling fully alongside him on the bed. "For a start, you need to take care of yourself. You're eating for two, now."

"Stop it," the Doctor spat. "You can't seriously expect me to go along with this... this..."

"New life? Blessed miracle?"

"Monstrosity!"

The Master looked offended. "That's our child you're talking about."

"Our-- You--!" the Doctor sputtered. He crossed his arms defiantly.

"Oh, don't pout," the Master said. "Isn't this what you wanted? A new generation of Time Lords? A family?" He leaned close. "To be a father again?"

"Not like this," the Doctor said, wishing he didn't want all those things. Wishing he didn't need to want them. It was his fault that his people were dead, his fault his own granddaughter--

"Shh," the Master said, resting a hand on his chest, over one heart. "I know." 

The Doctor really wished that hand wasn't so bloody _comforting_.

"I know this is difficult for you," the Master continued. "You've been through a great deal. You need time to adjust. It's perfectly understandable. But you haven't eaten anything in days. It's not healthy. Now I've brought you some breakfast, and I want you to eat every bite."

There was a tray full of food on the nightstand. The Master placed it on the Doctor's lap. French toast and bacon and bowls of fruit and vegetables. The Doctor's stomach twisted with hunger.

"I made it myself," the Master said, as if that made a difference.

The Doctor sighed. "Fine," he said, picked up a rasher and tore off a piece. It was only to keep his strength up for escape, that was all. 

A surprisingly short amount of time later, the only things left on the tray, aside from the crockery, were pieces of green melon and cauliflower. This body didn't like those very much. He leaned back, feeling stuffed.

"Much better," the Master said, approvingly. He took the tray and stood up. "I'll be back later with something for you to wear." Be good, and get what you want: the message was loud and clear.

"Thank you, Master," the Doctor said.

The Master awarded _that_ with a shot of forced pleasure that left the Doctor breathless, long after the Master had gone.

* * *

"You couldn't find anything more... dignified?" the Doctor asked, making a face. He was used to stylishly-cut suits, things that hugged in the right places. This was just a few steps up from a hospital gown. At least he had trousers again.

"The Toclafane killed all the tailors," the Master said, shrugging. "Now come on, it's time for your check-up."

"I don't need one."

"Yes, you do," the Master said, making it clear that he would brook no argument. "Your condition isn't exactly natural. You may not care if our child survives, but I don't believe you're ready to die of sepsis when it rots inside you."

The Doctor shuddered. "All right, all right. You've made your point."

It was a short walk to the lab, and of course he had to disrobe again and climb back onto that table. He tried not to flinch as the metal bindings locked around his limbs. The Master scanned him with one gadget after another, and pressed his fingers around the shape of the womb he'd forced the Doctor's body to grow. The Doctor felt more than a bit sick at the sensation of the hard, unnatural lump inside him. 

The Master gave him a disappointed look for thinking such a thing, and then left to rustle through a fridge full of small glass bottles. He returned with three and a needle.

"Intravenous is a bit old-fashioned," the Doctor said, aiming for bravado and not quite making it.

"Twenty-first century technology," the Master said, resigned. "We just have to make do." He was suddenly amused "Don't tell me you're afraid of needles."

"Of course not!" the Doctor said, but the Master just looked at him knowingly. "Oh, very well. Maybe a bit." He mentally stuck his tongue out. Needles were just so... pointy. There were a lot of things he didn't like that were sharp, like the wrong ends of pitchforks and guillotines. There wasn't any reason he shouldn't find them unpleasant.

"I'm hardly going to be chopping off your head," the Master said.

"Stop reading my mind," the Doctor demanded, nerves frayed. "I demand that you get out."

"No," the Master said, calmly.

"It's obscene! You don't... you can't sit in someone's head like this. It goes against everything--" The Master shut him up with a mental slap that left the Doctor stunned. 

"You do not tell me what I can and can't do," he said, leaning ominously over him. "I want that to be perfectly clear in your disaster of a mind. Now you're going to be quiet and still while I give you the shots that keep you alive. Is that understood?"

The Doctor nodded. He flinched with each painful jab, and suspected the Master took care to make them hurt more than they should, but he kept his mouth shut. 

The chemicals rushed through his bloodstream, propelled by both hearts. His arm was sore, and after a few minutes he began to feel lethargic and shaky. 

"What did you do?" he asked, the words slurring. "In the... in the bottles, what..."

The world slipped away.

When he opened his eyes, time had passed. He felt sore all over.

"Don't try to move," the Master warned, looking down at him with something that might even be concern. "You had a bad reaction."

A sudden, surprising fear clenched around his hearts. "The... Is it...?" he asked, unable to say the words.

"The baby's fine," the Master said, giving him a soft smile and stroking his forehead. "You've been unconscious for a week."

A week. Bloody hell. "Please, stop this. It isn't going to work," he said. 

"Yes, it is," the Master insisted. "I just needed to find the right combination. I kept you out until I found it. You should thank me for that."

The Doctor gave a dry sob of a laugh. "This is madness." 

The Master simply smiled.

* * *

They fell into a regular schedule after that. Every other day the Doctor was brought to the lab, where the Master would run test after test and then give him another round of injections. He did seem to have found the right combination, as they only left the Doctor feeling a little tired rather than almost killing him. Usually he ended up taking a short nap once he was brought back to his room, and the next day, the lab-free day, he always felt strangely energized.

The Master told him not to bounce too hard off the walls on those days. It was particularly difficult being locked in when he wanted to run and run on some alien world, when he ached for his TARDIS, when he missed his companions, when he needed _space_. There wasn't enough space, even in his large suite. Near the end of the day he would get so jittery that he couldn't concentrate enough to read or write and his mind was such a relentless jumble of thoughts that eventually the Master would have to come into his room and force him to calm down.

Sometimes that meant another shot, or his mind being wrenched quiet. Usually, though, it meant talking.

The first thing they'd talked about was the War. The Master had been there, he understood like no one else could. He knew about the unspeakable horrors, the painful losses, the sacrifices. Once the Doctor had started to talk about it, it had been so easy to keep going, to unburden himself at long last. He felt absurdly grateful, embarrassed by how much he needed it. When he'd finally told the Master how he'd done it, ended the Time War, afterwards it felt as though he'd been gutted and then filled with helium.

When the Doctor had run out of words, when there were no more ghosts to exorcise, the Master drew him back and back. Their dance across the cosmos, battle after battle, going backwards along their personal timelines. 

Do you remember...

Oh, that time when we...

I had you just where I wanted you, until...

He made the Doctor laugh, and smile, and shake his head saying no no no, it went _this_ way, you've got it all wrong. It was suddenly everything the Doctor had ached for, from the moment he'd realized that the fascinatingly smart old man at the end of the Universe was his oldest foe and oldest friend. Even with the endless tests, even with the way the shots screwed with his system and his moods, it felt as though he'd been given a gift, a second chance. This was the Master he'd longed for.

Do you remember the Academy? he'd asked, finally, and an old memory that wasn't his own was suddenly there, filling his mind, and it was so exquisite that it made him ache. The Master had left him alone that night, and the Doctor had lain awake, turning it over and over, reliving that memory, that cold winter afternoon outside the dome, when they'd kissed.

That was when the touching had begun. Oh, the Master had touched him constantly before that, helping him walk when he was tired, clinically probing during his check-ups, even caring hands on his face and his body when they were together in his room. The Doctor was used to those by now, after so much time. Had it really been months? The bulge in his abdomen proved as much.

He wasn't horrified anymore, if only because he was used to his situation. And the Master had made the situation quite simple for him: either help him keep the baby alive, or die horribly when the baby died inside him with no way out. He was a living incubator, and didn't have a choice. So he'd accepted it, at least for now.

He didn't really want it to die. He often found himself holding a protective hand over where it was growing, wishing for it to be a better Time Lord than he'd been. It was life, and he'd seen too much death to not cherish it for what it was. Hope, the future, a chance for something better. Was this how mothers felt? He thought he understood Jackie better now, and Francine. Odds were, though, that it would never survive, no matter how skilled the Master was at genetic engineering. It was a miracle it had even lasted this long, and who knew what the chemical cocktails were doing to the Doctor's body? He might fail before the baby did, and regeneration wouldn't be likely to spare it. It would be burned out of him with the excess regenerative energy.

"Stop thinking about it. You'll make yourself ill," the Master told him, when he found the Doctor in one of his black moods. 

"Was this your plan all along?" the Doctor asked, feeling sorry for the poor, doomed life within him, sorry for himself for being so useless. "Make me want this... this _thing_ and then let it kill me?"

"Of course not," the Master said, sharply. "Don't be ridiculous."

"It's killing me," he'd said, certain of it. "You're killing me."

"I'm keeping you alive," the Master reminded him. "I thought you were past that pathetic suicide wish."

"Don't let me kill it," he begged, suddenly so afraid. "Promise me you'll save it."

The Master looked at him carefully, and frowned. "Something's wrong. I'm taking you to the lab."

That was when the Doctor had been sick all over the bed, and then fainted.

When he woke up this time, he was sore all over, but his stomach bloody well _hurt_.

"Ow," he whimpered.

"Don't be such a wimp," the Master told him, but the Doctor could see he was relieved. There were scans and a small battery of tests, and just one injection this time, before the Master told him what had happened. "Hormone imbalance. I had to put an implant behind the womb, to keep things regulated."

"You what?" the Doctor gaped. Given how invasive the Master had been up to now, it shouldn't have shocked him that he'd ended up cut open. But surgery was, like pregnancy and needles, considered astoundingly primitive on Gallifrey. He had a mental flash of the Master's hands buried in his guts, and wasn't sure if it was his imagination or the Master being helpful.

"I'll have to replace it in a couple of months," the Master continued, ignoring him. "Don't worry, I haven't left a scar. You'll still be able to wear your bikini."

The Doctor glared at him, and then gave a strained laugh. "I'm falling apart," he said, certain that he was.

"No," the Master said, gently. "You'll get through this. We'll get through this."

The Doctor shook his head. "You've had to _cut me open_ ," he said, barely able to believe the words even as he said them. Grace had cut him open, Grace had killed him. He was panicking, he knew it, but he couldn't make it stop.

"It was just another procedure. I'm not some human with a scalpel. I know exactly what I'm doing." The Master reached into his mind and forced him to be calm. "You need to relax, so you can heal."

"What am I to you?" the Doctor asked, feeling like a thing, like a puppet, like a victim.

"You're the Doctor," the Master told him, kindly. "And I'm taking care of you. Now sleep." 

The Doctor slept.

The pain had faded by the time he awoke, in his cleaned bed, but the soreness had doubled. It was just as well that the Master knew his every thought, because at least that meant his captor and torturer and friend was already there, bringing in food and water and medication. Time Lords weren't supposed to need medication, but there wasn't a word for what he'd been turned into. 

"I won't ask how you're feeling," the Master said, helping him swallow some unidentified pills. The Master never told him what he was being given, and the Doctor knew that there was no point in asking. 

"You already know," the Doctor pointed out, not for the first time. "You already know everything." He truly hated that, the constant, utter invasion of it, never having a moment to himself. But the few times the Master had pulled out, just for a minute, the Doctor had begged him to come back, to stay with him. He couldn't bear to be alone. He was such a wreck.

"I won't leave you," the Master said, knowing what the Doctor needed to hear. "I'm not leaving. I'll keep you safe."

"Master," the Doctor said, as much a plea as a sob, and oh, there was his reward, his hit of pleasure amidst the pain. "Master," he said again, and moaned softly as the Master obligingly toyed with his mind. 

His body was falling apart, but oh, the Master held his mind together.

"Good," the Master soothed, pleased. "Very good." He stroked his hand over the bulge of the Doctor's belly, so lightly it didn't aggravate the healing insides under his unblemished skin. "Such a good Doctor. Say my name, and I'll make it feel so very good."

"Master, Master, Master," he breathed, couldn't stop himself, needed the Master so badly. He was certain he was losing his sanity. "Please stop this," he begged, when the pleasure eased again. "Please take it out of me. It's too much." 

"No," the Master said. "If you want me, you won't ask me to kill it."

"You could transfer it to an incubator," the Doctor managed, despite the fog in his mind, the turmoil of his emotions. "Why didn't you just grow it in an incubator?" 

"Because it has to be yours," the Master told him. "I can't transfer it. It's too late now. I looked at it with my own eyes, while you were splayed open on the table."

The Doctor saw it too, now, in all its bloody glory. The tiny, rough shape of the baby growing inside him. He did sob now, and clutched at the Master's shirt. "What have you done?" he cried.

"I've made life," the Master said, proudly.


	2. Chapter 2

Things were a little easier, after the surgery. The implant certainly seemed to help, evening out his ups and downs, keeping him from feeling too ill. He only needed to go to the lab every third day now, which certainly eased his nerves. He read a great deal, and began to write down his past. A new journal of impossible things, and sometimes the past felt as much of a dream to him as it had been to John Smith.

9:02 am still haunted him. He tried not to think about it.

The Master gave him some breathing room, which he'd needed badly, and as a result he felt even more grateful towards him. He didn't want to feel grateful for being turned into an experiment straight out of the Rani's TARDIS. He didn't want to feel grateful for the Master's understanding and patience, for the Master giving him the one thing he was certain he could never have. He really, really wished he could hate his situation, but the truth was he didn't. He had his friend back, and his friend had given him his dearest wish, and even forcing himself to stare at the extremely ugly reality of what that meant didn't seem to make a difference.

He knew that outside of the few rooms that were his world, the Master was doing horrible things to the universe. The Toclafane, the rockets, and probably soon the newly-loomed Time Lords, all bending to the whims of the Master's destruction. Down below, Earth was being transformed, the corpses and ruined cities consumed by nanites and spat out as the building blocks of New Gallifrey. The Doctor knew, at some point, that he'd have to face all that, but not yet. 

He could feel it moving inside him. The child. He didn't know what gender it would be, though he found himself hoping for a daughter. His child. His possible daughter. He kept running the words through his mind, over and over again, letting them sink in. He would have to think of a name, a proper long Time Lord name. He'd never been much for tradition when Gallifrey had been around, but now that it was just the three of them (three of them!) he found himself clinging to every half-remembered ceremony and rite. He wanted her (and it was definitely going to be a her, he'd decided) to know where she came from, even if it meant knowing why her home planet had never existed. 

"You are positively doting," the Master said, greatly amused.

"What if I am?" the Doctor said, his hand over the small bulge. 

"I'm glad," the Master said, and leaned in and kissed him.

The Doctor gave a soft 'oh' of surprise, blushed, ran his free hand nervously through his hair, and took a step back. The Master closed the space between them, and rested his own hand over the Doctor's. 

"She's ours," he said, leaning so close.

"Yes," the Doctor breathed, caught in the moment. He licked his lips, swallowed. The world narrowed around them. He waited for the Master to kiss him again, but he didn't. And then the Doctor realized the Master was waiting for him to make the next move. To prove something? He didn't care.

He kissed the Master. The world failed to end. Well, the world had already ended. The kissing was good, though. Very good. There was also touching, the Master's free hand on the small of his back, dipping down just enough to make it much more than comfort.

It was the Master who finally drew back. "It's time," he said.

"I know." The second surgery. It wasn't an emergency this time, but preventative maintenance. Keeping him healthy. The Master caring for him. "I'm ready." He took the Master's hand, and followed him to the lab.

He felt oddly modest when he stripped this time, even though he'd lost count of how many times he'd been naked before the Master. His stomach fluttered from nerves. Even preventative maintenance was risky, but was it any riskier than everything else they'd done? They would get through it together.

"I trust you," he said, when the Master was poised with the anaesthetic. 

The Master merely smiled, but there was triumph in his eyes as the Doctor lost consciousness.

It wasn't so bad the second time around. Perhaps it was because he knew what to expect, and it wasn't a nasty surprise after passing out thinking he was about to die. The Master had certainly proved himself an able surgeon, and by now he could probably fine tune the drugs blindfolded. The Doctor was cooperative in every way, taking all his shots and pills, submitting patiently to the tests, letting himself be poked and prodded. It was all for a good cause. It was all for their daughter.

There had been one bit, with a very long, very scary needle, when the Master had needed to sample the amniotic fluid. That had not been easy. It had left him shaken, and the Master had known what he needed and held him, actually held him without even a single sarcastic remark, and the Doctor had wondered if maybe there wasn't something wrong with the Master. But when he'd suggested it, the Master had merely shaken his head, laughed at the idea.

"I take care of you," he said. "Isn't that what you want?"

"Yes," the Doctor said, still wondering what the catch was. "It's just... you're usually, you know. Evil."

"I thought I was being evil," the Master said, mock-offended.

The Doctor made a face. "All right, you're conquering the universe while your greatest foe is imprisoned and being forced to carry your child for eighteen months. That is certainly evil."

"That's more like it," the Master said, satisfied.

The surgeries became just another part of their routine, and so did the long scary needles. The Doctor began to forget what it was like to not be constantly chemically adjusted and poked with sharp objects, though he suspected it was probably a great deal more comfortable. He wasn't entirely sure he would trade it, though. Not for his daughter. Not for the Master.

It would take a blind man to miss that there was something developing between them, which meant even the Doctor had noticed. Even aside from the fact that the Doctor was largely held together with spit and sellotape, the Master was extremely caring with his body and mind. And there was the kissing, and the holding, and the touching. Subtlety, thy name was not the Master.

There actually were courtships on Gallifrey, even if they weren't as ubiquitous as they had been on Earth. And they did have their... history. It had just been an awfully long time ago, and there were whole Mississippis and Amazons under their bridge. Not to mention the constant attempts to kill him and generally make his life miserable. But in hindsight, it was more like those were the only ways the Master could show that he cared. Oh, Doctor, look at this lovely civilization I destroyed for you. Like a cat bringing in dead prey. (The Master often reminded him of cats.)

Living as a human, as Harry Saxon, had clearly changed things. He'd had a wife, which just spoke volumes right there. Poor Lucy. But it seemed he owed her, because there was no way the Master would have doted on him before her, pregnant or not. He wondered if that made him her replacement, or if she had been his. Maybe neither. Maybe both.

One day, when the Master came to visit him, he was looking particularly pleased. 

"Looming day," he replied, when the Doctor asked. "The first batch fresh from the oven. I've already given them all the boring work." He grinned broadly.

"Oh," the Doctor said, feeling unaccountably jealous, and incredibly stupid for feeling jealous, and embarrassed because he knew the Master knew all of it.

"That's so cute," the Master said, smirking. He pulled the Doctor into a kiss, a deep one, like the one he'd given Lucy on national television. "I like it when you're jealous," he murmured.

The Doctor really wished he could pout and deny everything, but as it was he'd have to settle for pouting. 

"Not feeling special enough?" the Master asked. "I could give you twins."

"I don't think so," said the Doctor. One was more than enough as it was. 

"I know," the Master said, eyes lighting up. "I'll take you out to dinner. Would you like that?"

After so many months being constrained to just his suite, the lab, and the short hallway between them, there were few things the Doctor wanted more than somewhere _new_. "Yes," he said, emphatically.

"Hmm," the Master thought. "Tomorrow night? I think I can have the minions scrape something together by then."

A lab-free day. "That would be perfect," the Doctor said.

"It's a date," said the Master, and kissed him until his knees wobbled.

* * *

The Doctor spent the rest of the day and all of the next going steadily stir-crazy. Usually the Master sensed when he needed to calm down, to keep his system balanced, and came in to make sure he did, but this time the door stayed shut. The Doctor had to calm himself down. It wasn't easy, when all he could think about was the Master.

He wasn't sure if you could fall in love with someone twice. Given that the first time they'd been in completely different bodies, it was possible. It was also possible that he'd gone just a bit Stockholm now that everything he'd ever loved had been taken away from him and his life and the future of his race were entirely in the Master's hands. Not that it made a difference in the end. Love sounded better, so he'd stick with that.

Even though his body was a mess of drugs and strange hormones, or perhaps because of that, he was definitely falling in love. He lay in bed, remembering and thinking, and for the first time in a long time felt his body begin to want along with his mind. The joints were a bit rusty, but the machinery was indeed functional. He held his palm against his stirring erection, and it was all too surreal, especially when he knew that if he did do anything, the Master would experience it right along with him. He drew his hand back. It was a bit too soon for such exhibitionism, he thought. Not to mention the fact that he wasn't sure what effect, if any, his arousal might have on his delicate hormone balance that was so carefully regulated. He didn't want to end up throwing up all over himself again, and almost dying. That would not be good.

He found a book of Sudoku puzzles wedged behind the set of Dickens novels, grabbed a felt-tipped marker (the Master still wouldn't allow him pencils (too sharp) or pens (too useful and sharp)) and meticulously solved one page every three minutes exactly. He slowed it down to five for the 'advanced' section, just to pace himself.

"Fifteen, nine, and four," said the Master, just as the Doctor was solving the last puzzle.

"Ah, so it is," said the Doctor, writing in the numbers. He set the book aside. "Busy day?"

"Oh yes," said the Master. "It's amazing how much more gets done with minions. I should have loomed my own Time Lords centuries ago."

The Doctor made a disapproving noise. He knew the Master was conquering galaxies, but he didn't have to like it. 

It was the Master's turn to pout. "Aren't you happy for me?"

"I don't like it when you kill people," the Doctor said, somehow feeling as if he ought to be happy for the Master, even though he knew he really shouldn't be. Love/Stockholm, he thought, and shrugged it off.

"I'm not killing anyone now," the Master said, sitting down next to him and running his eyes up the Doctor's body with something of a leer. 

"So you're not," the Doctor said, dryly. "Dinner?"

"Absolutely. Oh, and you have to wear this." He held up a red satin blindfold.

"How romantic," the Doctor said, and the thing of it was it actually was a bit romantic, even if it was probably so he wouldn't see any of the Master's evil projects. Probably. Again, he liked the romance angle better.

The Master led him through the halls of the Valiant and into a room.

"Do you know how long it's been?" the Master asked, speaking low and close to his ear. 

The Doctor thought back, factored in periods of unconsciousness, and realized. "Nine months."

"Halfway," the Master said, and he could hear the smile in his voice. "You never thought we'd make it this far." The Master pressed close behind him and then his hands were there on the bulge of his belly. "Impossible, you said, if I recall correctly."

"It's still impossible," the Doctor replied, lightly. "Looks like you win again."

"That's right," the Master said, with a triumphant rumble. "I win, Doctor."

"Seems like that's all you do," the Doctor said, the words propelled from him by some indefinable emotion. 

"Lucky for you," said the Master, caressing his stomach. "Lucky for her. For us."

"Yes," breathed the Doctor. It was so much what he wanted that it scared him. He'd lost everything he'd ever wanted.

"I have a present for you," said the Master, moving back and untying the blindfold. "Close your eyes," he said, and the Doctor obeyed. The silk slipped from his face.

Seconds ticked by, but he kept them closed. He knew the Master wanted him to wait.

"Open them now," the Master said, and the Doctor obeyed again, and for a long moment forgot how to breathe.

Gallifrey stretched out below them, red grass and silver forests and mountains. "Oh," he said, tears in his eyes. He stepped forward, touched the glass. Home, he thought. Home home home, his home, their home, oh Gallifrey. His hearts broke and came together and filled up and broke again.

"New Gallifrey," the Master said, quietly. "For you." He pressed close again, strength against his back, when the Doctor's legs felt like jelly.

It was wonderful. It was horrible. It used to be Earth, it used to be filled with humans, it was supposed to be filled with humans for five billion years, and he was supposed to have watched it burn up in its time. But it was _Gallifrey_. How could he not want this? How could he hate it? He couldn't. 

"That's it," the Master cooed, sending little rewards of pleasure into his mind. They burst like tiny fireworks, each one making him shiver. "I'm so glad you like it," he said, nuzzling at his neck. 

"Master," the Doctor rasped, his throat tight with emotion, and he trembled as another reward was delivered, as the Master stroked through his mind. He leaned heavily against the glass. He wanted it to shatter so he could fall through space, for gravity to take this enormous responsibility from him and let him spend his last moments lying in the long red grass.

Somehow he ended up sitting down, and there was a table in front of him. There was a glass of water in his hand, held there by the Master.

"Drink this," the Master told him, and he obeyed. That was all he did now, just like all the Master did was win. What had become of him?

"Shh," the Master hushed. "You know you mustn't think like that. It could hurt the baby. Our daughter." 

"Our daughter," the Doctor choked. His daughter on Gallifrey. He wanted it so much it physically hurt. He wanted Earth back, and humans back, and Martha back. She was always the sensible one, she had always saved him, even from himself. And while he was wishing for impossible things, he wanted Rose back, too, but he was so, so glad she was gone. She would never have to see this, or be killed because of him.

He was crying. Everything hurt so much, and he was crying, and this was supposed to have been their date. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, tasting tears. "I've ruined it, I'm sorry."

"It's all right," the Master soothed. "It's a lot all at once. We'll have dinner tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is a lab day," the Doctor said. "I'll be too tired."

"Then we'll do it the next night," the Master said, still being extraordinarily reasonable. "Do you want to go back to your room?"

"Not yet," the Doctor said. He couldn't stop staring at the planet below, at what shouldn't and couldn't and did exist, just like his daughter, just like all of this madness. He saw a hint of anger in the Master's eyes, and flinched. "I'm sorry," he said again, not wanting him to be angry, if he was angry he would take it all away. "I'm sorry, Master."

There was a long pause before he received his gift this time, a soothing blanket of comfort. The pause was important, he knew, but the comfort was everything. It was time to go back, because that was what the Master wanted. He was blindfolded again, and led back to his suite, his prison. It was better not to have any windows. It didn't hurt as much if he couldn't see it.

"If you feel up to it later, I've left some food on the table," the Master told him, once the Doctor had been tucked back into bed. "I'm going to give you something to help you sleep."

"I don't want it," the Doctor said, tired of being drugged, tired of being constantly controlled.

"You need to sleep," the Master told him, firm but still patient. "I know you're going to end up staying up all night, and you'll make yourself ill."

"Can't you do it yourself?" He liked it best when the Master used the link to make him sleep. It didn't make him feel all muzzy the next day.

"Not tonight," the Master told him, and the Doctor knew it was because he'd been a disappointment. He'd made the Master angry.

He took the pills, and swallowed them. At least it wasn't another shot. The Master stayed with him until they kicked in.

"I am sorry," the Doctor said, sleepily. It was important that the Master know he hadn't meant to be bad. He couldn't lose him. He needed him. Their daughter needed him. 

"I know," the Master replied. "Sleep."

* * *

A long string of black days followed. It was probably only to be expected, given how much strain he was under, but that didn't make it any easier. The last time he'd felt this bad, he'd still been in a birdcage. Strangely, the Master largely left him alone, except for his checkups and another long scary needle (it had been a few weeks since the last one) and making sure he went to sleep at night.

He didn't feel like reading or watching videos or doing anything, but that was all right because frankly his depression was too deep for boredom to reach him. Everything felt distant and mechanical. What was he doing? How could he even want to bring life into this universe, where everything went away and everything died and it all ended in pain and loneliness? What kind of child could two mass-murderers produce, let alone raise? What kind of father could he possibly be, when he made such a hash of everything?

There was nothing in his suite he could use to even nick a vein, much less kill himself. And damn the Master for that. But even as he thought that, he knew he couldn't hurt his precious daughter. She was all he had left, the only thing that mattered. It had to be his, the Master had told him, and it was quite possibly the most evil thing the Master had ever done, making him bear this child.

He realized, days afterwards, that they'd never had their date, and felt like such a fool for missing it and such a fool for wanting it.

He might have gone on like this for much longer, but then the most wonderful thing happened, and just like that the world was shining again.

"I can feel her," the Doctor said excitedly, when the Master visited him. "I can feel her _thinking_."

"Excellent," said the Master, looking rather chuffed himself. "A bit early, even, I think."

"She's going to be so smart," the Doctor said, holding his bump. "And a real troublemaker. Just like her parents." He wanted to cry again, but this time it was out of happiness. She was alive, thinking, a real little Time Lord, and this was what he'd been working so hard for. What _they'd_ been working so hard for.

"Feeling better?" the Master asked, moving close again, for the first time since their disaster of a date. 

"Yes. Thank you. Yes. _Thank you_." He was babbling like an idiot, but he didn't care. It was just so wonderful, so unexpectedly perfect. 

"You're welcome," the Master said, smiling back. 

"Oh, Master," the Doctor said, and gasped at the jolt of happiness he felt, as the Master gave him what he wanted. If he was good, he got what he wanted, and he decided right then that he would be good, he would be so good, so he could have his daughter in his arms, bawling her little Time Lord lungs out. He _ached_ for that day.

"I want you," he said, the words slipping out before he could even process them. It was probably better that way.

"Do you, now?" the Master said, giving him a considering look. "Do you really?"

The Doctor nodded. "But I'm not sure... is it safe? For the baby?"

"Perfectly," the Master said, a slow smile creeping across his face. "In fact, it's encouraged."

"Is it?" He'd been guided back to the bed again, and sat down with a bounce. 

The Master stood over him, eyes dark. "Doctor's orders," he said, running his thumb along the Doctor's lips. "But first, I need something from you. Just a little thing."

"Anything," the Doctor breathed, his stomach tumbling with anticipation.

"I want in," the Master said, and tapped his forehead. "You've hidden things from me. Oh, I know," he said, waving off the Doctor's response. "You needed to do it, and I let you. I allowed it." He leaned down. "But not anymore. If you want this from me, I want access. To anything I want."

Two futures stretched before the Doctor. In one, he gave the Master full access to his mind, and the Master made love to him and they had a lovely, happy daughter. In the other, he refused and it all went straight to hell. There really wasn't much of a choice.

"It's yours," the Doctor said, feeling only a little terrified, because the Master had already spent months with his hands inside the Doctor's body and his mind inside the Doctor's head, and what was the loss of a few last corners of privacy, a few dusty old secrets? Nothing, when he could have so much in exchange.

"Right decision," the Master told him, and placed his hands on either side of his face. The Doctor gave a strangled sound and his eyes rolled in his head.

The link through the Archangel network gave the Master constant access to his thoughts and feelings. He could always feel the Master there, a reassuring, frightening presence. But that was all he was, a presence, a sensation. This was different, this was the Master there, in his head, as if he'd reached into the Doctor's brain with his hand and started rummaging around, and not with the greatest of care.

"Gnh," the Doctor said, mentally flailing.

"Oops. Sorry," the Master said, backing off enough to straighten up the mess he'd made. "Not that you'd know the difference," he muttered. "Do you ever dust?"

"There is no dust in my head," the Doctor replied.

"Uh huh," said the Master.

"And if there is, it's probably because you've been messing about with it for nine-plus months," the Doctor said, feeling rather defensive about his mindscape. It was a bit of a mess, he supposed, but it wasn't like he'd had call to expect any visitors. Not since Romana, really.

"Please don't go on about Romana," the Master said, as images of her popped up around them, representing little sections of memory. "Go on about me instead."

The Romanas disappeared, replaced by a gaggle of Masters.

"That's more like it," the Master said, very pleased. "Hm, I am a handsome fellow."

The Doctor snorted, but given the proposition that had led to this moment, he wasn't really in a position to argue.

The Master pulled up rather a few memories, then with a wave of his hand banished his representations to the back of the Doctor's mind. "I prefer you paying attention to the current me," he said, stalking towards the Doctor's mental image. "Shouldn't you be pregnant?" he asked, pointing at the Doctor's slim form.

"Excuse me if I haven't been pregnant for a thousand years," the Doctor replied. "I spent more time as an old man. Was there anything in particular you wanted to see or do you just want to insult the inside of my head?"

"Not yet," the Master said, with measured calm that meant he probably wanted to slap the Doctor for insolence. "But now that I'm here..." he said, with a pop there was another Master standing next to them. 

"Another memory?" the Doctor asked, frowning. He couldn't feel himself remembering anything.

"An extension. A doorway, if you will. One I can open anytime, whether or not you feel like letting me in, and one that will let me past all those flimsy blocks you've put up. Before you start whining about things being obscene, remember that this is the deal. Take it or leave it, and I don't suggest you leave it."

The Doctor wasn't sure this was remotely a good idea, but he nodded. "Fine." And then, suddenly, they were back in the suite again, and the Doctor could feel his daughter thinking about her fingers, and it was all worth it.

His mind was getting to be an awfully busy place. First the Archangel link, and then his daughter, and now the Master had put a door in for himself. The door felt like having something stuck between his teeth, except in his head. Hopefully the sensation would fade, otherwise he might end up trying to scratch his brain with a toothpick.

The Master's hands dropped from his face, but instead resuming the enticing sexual overtures, the Master held out his hand. "Did you think I'd forgotten?"

"Lab day," the Doctor sighed. "I know."

"Time for another surgery," the Master corrected. "I'll need to change things around a bit in there, especially now that her brain development is speeding up."

"As long as all the bits still fit together when you're done," the Doctor said, rather resigned to the Master's alterations.

"Would you object if they didn't?" the Master asked, curious.

The Doctor considered this. "Probably not," he admitted. Not if it was necessary. She was already a significant presence inside him, and she had months of growing yet.

"Good," said the Master, and that meant he'd given the right answer again. It just happened to feel disturbingly wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

When the Master has said 'change things around a bit,' the Doctor had thought about furniture being rearranged. He hadn't thought about what it felt like to be the furniture. It had been two weeks now, and he still felt like he'd been punched in the gut. With an elephant. 

Oh, well. At least it meant the Master was back to doting again. He'd missed the doting, and found it best not to think too much about how closely it was tied to him being crippled with pain. 

It didn't help that their daughter kept getting bigger and heavier, pressing against all those tender internal organs. Instead of counting up the months, he'd started counting down to when she would be outside of him where there was an awful lot more room for her to grow and kick things. 

It had been a month since their failed date, and if they didn't have sex soon it was probably never going to happen because even breathing was going to be exhausting. How was it possible to be so horny when he was in such pain? It had to be the hormones. He felt quite safe blaming them for everything.

"I have a surprise for you," the Master said, practically dancing his way into the suite. He waggled some odd-looking device. 

"Should I bother asking?" the Doctor said.

"No. Maybe. Why not? It's a--well, no, not important. It's going to make you feel better. And let you have sex, and my god your mind is one-track these days." The Master shook his head, amazed. "I actually had to put aside several other projects for this, because otherwise I wasn't going to be able to think about anything else either." He touched the back of the Doctor's neck, and there was a slight pinch.

"Were they killing-people projects?" the Doctor asked.

"Two of them," the Master admitted. "But nothing urgent." 

"Well, that's all right, then," the Doctor said.

"Strip off and turn on your side," the Master told him, climbing onto the bed and fiddling with the device.

"How romantic," the Doctor said, obliging. "You still haven't even taken me on that date."

"Later, later," the Master said. "I want to try this."

"What are you--gnh!" The world dropped out from under him as everything from the neck down stopped being there. Or stopped sending his brain signals, which might as well be the same thing.

"Oops, let me..." the Master said, and the Doctor heard some beeps and then his body was back again.

"What was that?!" the Doctor said, horrified.

"I paralyzed you from the neck down," the Master said, proudly.

"And that was supposed to be a good thing?!"

"I need to narrow down the nerve pathways. Otherwise you won't have working lungs, much less a working cock."

"I feel so reassured."

"You know, you didn't used to be this mouthy when this started," the Master said, vaguely annoyed.

"Hormones," the Doctor said. "Chronic pain. Not having sex. I've grown used to being a medical experiment gone mad. I'm high on incubating-fatherhood and bonding with my impossible child. Take your pick."

The Master rolled his eyes. "Hold on, let's try this again." 

More beeping, and then the nothingness was back, though this time he could still breathe. "Better," he managed, trying to help things along.

He felt his feet, but not his toes. Then he felt his lower back, and his lower back pain, and then only his right arm.

"Must I be your perpetual guinea pig?" he complained.

"Well, if you don't want to stop being in pain..." the Master said, switching off the device again. 

"Ow ow ow ow ow," the Doctor winced. "Experiment, experiment!" Even if no sex was involved, at least he wouldn't be constantly trying to find some position to lie or sit in that didn't hurt. Paralysis sounded better by the second.

"As you wish," the Master said, and turned it back on. The Doctor sighed with relief.

They spent about an hour as the Master turned bits of his nervous system on and off. It was like trying to figure out a very complicated set of television remotes that just happened to control his body.

"I never asked," the Doctor said, after they'd pinpointed the nerves for his fingers. "What did you do while you were in there? Run me through a blender?"

"I had to trim a few extra parts. And I rerouted several parts of your digestive and endocrine systems to support our growing daughter."

The Doctor couldn't think of what to say to that, and settled for: "And I'm not dead?"

"Obviously."

"Time Lords don't have extra parts. We're genetically engineered."

"Well, you didn't seem to be using them." The Master turned the nerves of his skin on and off a few times, then felt him up to make sure everything was responding. Everything was.

"Are you actually going to be able to put me back together at the end of this?" It was a serious question.

"I think so," the Master said, pausing. "Don't worry, I saved the extras. They're in stasis, just in case."

"Well, that's a relief," the Doctor said, still rather stunned. No wonder it hurt. Then he realized he could feel pretty much all of himself again, and he _didn't_ hurt.

"Taa daa!" said the Master.

"This is amazing." The Doctor sat up gingerly, just in case something necessary wasn't actually connected to his brain after all. The Master's definition of necessary was clearly more flexible than his own. His daughter was still a heavy weight on his thin frame, but he actually didn't hurt. After two weeks of solid pain, it made him instantly euphoric. He felt the back of his neck, and there was a small metal thing embedded there, probably connected directly into his spinal column. The receiver for the remote control, though hopefully turning off pain didn't mean... oh, who was he kidding?

"Please don't make me slap myself," the Doctor said.

"Would I do something that juvenile?" the Master asked. "All right, I would. But I will actually spare you that humiliation, at least until there's a dinner party I can make you perform at. In the meantime this is just pain suppression."

"Not elimination?"

"I think it will probably hurt until I stitch the extra bits back in. Maybe that's what they were for. Oh, well. Until then..." He held up the device. "That's just one more part of you that I own completely. How does that make you feel?"

Slowly having all his free will taken away should not be sexy. "Do you want me to show you?" he asked, enjoying being able to move again. 

"You've been dreaming about blowjobs in your sleep," the Master pointed out. "I'm looking forward to finding out if this body actually has technique."

The Doctor thought about how much he'd enjoyed licking things, especially fresh after his regeneration. "I strongly suspect it does," he said.

* * *

His body had technique. So did the Master's. Given that the Doctor wasn't pregnant in the traditional way, it might not have mattered that they hadn't actually had sex for several hundred years before their child's conception. In actuality, both of them seemed determined to fit entire lifetimes' worth of screwing into however long they had before the pregnancy just made it all too awkward to be fun. It was the best time the Doctor had had in... well, ever, probably. It was only a shame that there weren't more rooms they could christen.

No more sleeping drugs needed; the Master just fucked him until he passed out. All in all, he much preferred the current method. The Master had even begun staying the night, spooned up against him as they slept. It was pleasantly domestic.

And then there was the matter of the door in his head. Every so often the Master would just waltz in like he owned the place and start poking through his past. It was extremely strange to have someone else making him remember things he'd truly thought he'd forgotten. Most of it was innocuous, bits of trivia and random conversations he'd had with companions or villains, but every so often the Master would pull out something genuinely dark. Trying to kill a caveman--he'd completely forgotten about that one. He'd been so young, then.

After a while he realized that very slowly, very subtly, things were being rearranged. Reorganized, though he had to admit that it had all been rather a mess, so perhaps just simply organized. Nothing altered, nothing added or taken away. It was, like so many things the Master did to him, subtly disturbing. Was it changing him? And if it did, would he even be able to recognize that it had? Probably not. He did know that he really should be more worried, but he couldn't see the point in bothering. It wasn't like he actually had options, or choices. It was easier to just go with the flow. It was certainly more enjoyable. And thanks to the Master's remote control, the only pain he suffered was a pleasant soreness.

Pain was the body's way of warning that something was wrong. He knew that. He just didn't care.

One morning, he woke to find the Master's body fucking him relentlessly, and the Master's mind busily sorting his memories, and he freaked out. He ended up huddled in a corner, naked, hands over his ears and an old mnemonic on his lips. It was one of the first ones they taught in the Academy for psychic protection. Months ago he'd been certain he was falling apart. Now he was certain he was being remade, and it scared him senseless.

He hadn't thought much about his daughter since the neural implant, and that made him worry. He directed all his concern for himself onto her, making sure she was all right, making sure her mind wasn't being affected. The Master had said he wouldn't tamper with her, but that wasn't a guarantee. What if the Master tricked him into doing the tampering himself? What if that was what he was doing now? 

The Master frowned at him from their bed. "All that worry. You're going to make yourself ill again."

"What are you doing to me?" the Doctor asked, afraid of the answer.

"Enjoying myself," the Master replied. "Tidying up. Fucking you senseless. Does it have to be something evil?"

"Of course it does," the Doctor said. Because it was the Master and everything he did was evil. Even the one good thing that the Doctor had left was done for evil purposes. 

"You shouldn't think like that about our daughter. She might be able to hear."

"Too soon," the Doctor said, though he couldn't be exact. It would be months yet, though, he was fairly certain. "Her telepathic receptors are barely started."

This information seemed to surprise the Master. "How much can you tell, without assistance?"

"Everything," the Doctor said, surprising himself. "Full broadcast ability. No control. It's like having two bodies." It must have snuck up on him, because he'd been listening to her for weeks, but until this moment he hadn't realized the extent of it. He must have been blocking her out subconsciously, just as he automatically blocked any untrained telepath.

It was a relief to know that he could still protect himself, at least from anyone other than the Master. He put the blocks back up, though not entirely, so he could still hear her like a whisper at the back of his mind, and slumped against the wall.

"I didn't make you ignore her. You did that on your own," the Master said, pointedly.

"I didn't know," the Doctor said. He was terrified that he might have missed something, ignored her cries for help, but she was fine. He wrapped his hands over his belly, instinctively protective, and careful probed into her thoughts. They were standard contented baby thoughts. Nothing even remotely evil or twisted. Mostly stuff about warmth and noise and fingers and toes. He envied her.

"I'm sure your toes are just as fascinating," the Master said. "Come back to bed."

The Doctor picked himself up and slid back under the warm covers, not sure whether he had overreacted or underreacted. 

"Are you looking for something?" he asked. "Is that why you keep moving my memories around?"

"If I'm going to have to spend years in your head, I need to be able to move without tripping over a Yeti," the Master said. "Some of us actually like to be able to remember things when we want to."

"And you're looking for something," the Doctor said, certain it was more than fastidiousness. "Years?" he asked, realizing.

"Yup."

"Even after she's out of me?"

"As there's only about seven months left, years would necessarily encompass the period that she is, as you say, out of you."

"Oh," the Doctor said, ridiculously glad. He slipped back into the Master's waiting arms. "Good. Though... I prefer it when you wake me up before we have sex."

"Don't push your luck," said the Master, and then kissed him.

* * *

After another surgery, his health improved again. Two more implants this time, attached to his own organs rather than the womb, because he needed to be regulated even more than his child did. The world started to feel sharp again, and he didn't need to nap anymore. Best of all, it meant lab-time was down to once a week.

They had an emphatic celebratory fuck. It was glorious. They lay in bed, basking in the afterglow, the Doctor's head resting on the Master's chest, listening to his heartsbeat. The Master's fingers played with his hair, and the Master's mental projection lazily sorted through the different musical instruments he knew how to play. He giggled, thinking about his flute. Maybe he should take it up again.

"Not a chance," the Master told him.

"Bagpipes?" he offered, and that earned him an ear-flick. "Ouch."

"I'll make you a mix disc," the Master said. "Teach you something about real music."

The Doctor made a face. "You like disco."

"You like Wagner."

"That was two bodies ago," the Doctor said, defending himself. "Now I like Elvis."

"And the Beatles," the Master observed, pulling out memories from his near-plunge into a sun. "How classic rock."

"I liked the Beatles before they were cool," the Doctor said. "Accidentally released a prehistoric lizard at one of their concerts, but it was only a small one."

The Master snorted, and found the memory for him. The Doctor found himself admitting that it was actually nice to be able to remember things easily, and not let it all sleep in his mind like big dusty junk room. 

"Told you so," said the Master.

"What's your head look like these days?" the Doctor asked, curious. 

The Master thought about this. "Sleek, modern, lots of black. A better search engine than Google's wet dream."

"And the drums?" It was the first time he'd asked about it since Earth's destruction.

"Satisfied," the Master said, and gave him a mental prod that made it clear that this would also be the last time he asked about it.

"Can I look outside again?" the Doctor asked, suddenly. 

The Master's fingers paused in his hair, then resumed their aimless motions. A delightful wave of pleasure drifted through the link, making him groan. 

"That's a yes, then," the Doctor murmured, happily.

* * *

He stood at the window, staring down at New Gallifrey. There was a city down there, now, complete with dome. It was remarkably easy to not think of it as Earth anymore, because it really was completely different. The vegetation, the atmosphere, even the mineral composition. It looked like home to him, his first home. 

'Our home,' was the message that he heard in his head. He turned to the Master, and opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come.

"I know," the Master murmured, moving close. "You don't have to thank me."

The Doctor kissed him, and he felt their daughter mentally burbling with happiness.

"Can you hear her?" the Doctor asked.

"Only through you," the Master said, placing a hand on his face. The Doctor closed his eyes, and the Master was deep in his head. The Doctor opened door after door for him, flinging it all open with a thrill of abandon, until she was loud in his head and the Master was everywhere and oh Rassilon, it was a wonderful racket.

"Yes, yes, please," he begged, so grateful for this. A family, they were his family, and he would never be alone again. He sucked the Master's cock as their new home turned beneath them, the red grass waving in the wind.

* * *

He wanted to move down to the planet, but the Master shook his head.

"It's too soon," he said. "We need the lab here. Besides, you're in no condition to travel."

"I feel fine," the Doctor insisted. "Fantastic, even." He wanted so dearly to be down there, wanted his daughter to be born there.

"There's half a dozen little devices inside you keeping the both of you alive and moving," the Master reminded him. "Any one of those stops working in exactly the right way, and by the time I get you back here, it would be too late."

The Doctor's shoulder's slumped. "I know," he sulked. "I just... I'm tired of being cooped up. And it's looks so..."

The Master's expression softened. "You want to start our family off right," he said. "That means so much to me. But until she's out, it's just not safe."

The Doctor looked mournfully at the familiar walls of his suite, and ached for a new view.

"I don't want to keep you locked in here," the Master said, wrapping an arm around his waist. "I want you to be able to stretch your legs. Maybe even help me out in the labs. With the non-killing-people projects, of course. You could help with the looms, or the cities."

The Doctor was tempted. He was sorely tempted. It would be so good to stretch his legs again, to stretch his mind. To have something new to do.

"I could promise to behave?" he offered.

"That's not enough," the Master said, regretfully. "I know you're not going to hurt yourself anymore, but I need to be able to trust you. I can't have you changing your mind because something I do bothers you. There's too much at stake."

"There must be something I could do," the Doctor said, really wanting this now. "You have the remote. You're in my head. If you don't like what I'm doing, you could just stop me."

"I don't want to have to shut you off," the Master said, as if such an idea was too unpleasant to contemplate. "I want you by my side."

"Then let me help," the Doctor said.

The Master contemplated, his brow furrowed with thought. "There is one thing, I suppose. But..."

"What is it? Tell me, please," the Doctor begged. 

"No, I couldn't. It would be asking too much."

The Doctor was about to scream with frustration. "Just give me a chance, all right? If I stay in this suite until she's born I'm going to lose whatever's left of my mind."

"There's plenty left of your mind," the Master told him. "All right. Follow me."

"No blindfold?" the Doctor asked.

"No blindfold. If you really want this, you're going into it with your eyes entirely open."

* * *

Blue, he thought. Big and blue and safe. That was his TARDIS. Oh, how he'd missed her. Toclafane bobbed around her like flies over a corpse. But of course, she wasn't herself anymore. 

They walked into the dim red light of the paradox machine. It was hard to look at it without feeling sympathetic pain for his poor, cannibalized ship.

The Master was watching him, measuring every thought and every reaction. He didn't try to hide how he was feeling, because he couldn't earn the Master's trust if he wasn't completely honest.

"I'm going to give you a choice," the Master said. "One choice, one time, and once you've made it, that's it. There's no going back."

The Doctor swallowed nervously. "I'm ready," he said, though he wasn't.

"You can disable the paradox machine, and everything will go back to the way it was. Or, you can say goodbye to your ship, walk out that door, and everything will continue on as normal."

"No," the Doctor gasped, not even sure what he was denying. Probably the horror of the decision.

"If you end the paradox, Earth will be restored. You'll have your old life back. You will lose me, and you will lose our daughter, you will lose your new home and you will probably have to regenerate very soon. If you do nothing, and walk away, you will never be alone again, and our daughter will grow up among Time Lords." 

Each word was another blow to the Doctor's hearts. He wasn't sure how he was even still standing, when he wanted to sink to his knees and shatter.

"This is your choice. I'm not going to stop you. In fact, I'm going to wait outside." The Master walked to the doors. He gave the Doctor one last, piercing look, and then he was gone.

9:02 am. His daughter, who was so alive. The human race. New Gallifrey. The Master. Earth.

He'd had to make this choice before: save humanity by destroying something else. He'd been able to do it once, to end the Time War. He hadn't been able to do it a second time, and Rose had had to do it for him. And that had only been the Dalek fleet, not his daughter, not his family. Maybe if it had just been himself, he didn't care about himself, but oh, he would do anything for her, absolutely anything.

"I'm sorry, Martha," he said, remembering the betrayal in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I can't." He was so weak, and he'd suffered so much. He finally had something real, a future to fight for, someone to love and be loved by. It was incredibly selfish, and selfless. He sat on the grating of his ship and curled around his belly, holding his daughter.

Earth joined Gallifrey in the part of his mind reserved for things lost forever. It was even harder to relegate his TARDIS to that place, because even cannibalized she was still here, and he could feel her suffering. 

"I'm sorry, old girl," he told her, tears running down his cheeks. He fumbled his way to the door and stumbled out into the white of the halogen lights, and fell into the Master's arms.

"Right decision," the Master said, rewarding him again and again. "Very good. Very, very good."

That evening, the Master helped him sort the painful memories away. He didn't want to think about Earth or his ship or all the people he'd lost. The Master stopped him from being reckless and pushing it all away in a big lump.

"If you do that, it will all come back at you at once when you think of part of it," the Master told him. "Let me do it for you. If there's a bit that hurts, I'll put it somewhere safe and out of the way."

"Thank you," the Doctor said, wanting the pain to stop. 

The Master made it stop. Slowly, piece by piece, the painful memories faded, like old photographs. They were still there if he thought hard, but if he didn't think hard he could forget. It wasn't all gone, a thousand years of his life wasn't a blank, but sections of it went to sleep in his mind. Rose and Martha slept, their families slept, his TARDIS slept. Other things were left behind, and became sharper for it. His time on Earth with UNIT, travelling to E-Space, running away with Susan, and the Master, the Master. He could remember every one of their encounters with startling clarity, and sometimes from the wrong point of view. He wondered if that was intentional or if it was the Master simply rubbing off on him after a year in his head.

He woke up in the Master's arms, and he felt so much better.

"How would you like to come to work with me today?" the Master asked him.

"I'd love to," the Doctor said, smiling.


	4. Chapter 4

He refused to help with the universe-conquering, but there was more than enough to do for New Gallifrey. His daughter's world, that was how he thought of it, and he wanted it to be a wonderful place for her to grow up. It was a shame they couldn't bring in a second sun without destabilizing the system, but they didn't have the power of the Founders at their disposal.

He met some of the other Time Lords. They were... well, vaguely Master-like, which made sense. They didn't have his spark, though, that fire that the Doctor loved so much. The complexities of Time Lord biology meant that even with one source of genetic material, there was still a variety of appearances and personalities, but the Doctor thought that it might not be a bad idea to mix in some of himself with the next batch.

"You're enough trouble on your own," the Master told him. "But I'll think about it."

She should have a sibling, he decided.

"If everything goes all right, perhaps," the Master said. "Are you up to carrying a second?"

"I don't know," the Doctor said, feeling rather giddy. "Looming a baby would be easier, but..." He stroked his belly. He couldn't imagine feeling this way, loving his daughter so much, if she hadn't been a part of him from the start.

"Three months left," he said one night, when they were both sated. "I'm getting huge."

"You're a pregnant stick," the Master said, running his hand down the Doctor's flank. "I'm surprised you don't topple over."

"I think she's starting to listen," the Doctor said, feeling the edges of his daughter's mind. The Master was already (always) in his head, and he bridged the connection between them.

"She'll need a name, soon," the Master said, sending a little greeting through to her. She burbled back.

"Not until after. It's bad luck," the Doctor said.

The Master rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. As much as the implants and pain suppression had made the last few months easier, the ones ahead were possibly the most risky. The Doctor's body had never been meant to carry a baby to term, and on top of that there was the dangerous window between too early and too late. 

"You're going to have to start resting again," the Master told him. "You might not be feeling any pain, but the tests don't lie. You're pushing yourself too much. We might have to go back to regular injections."

"Can't you just put in another implant?" the Doctor protested.

"Your body doesn't produce anything naturally for that child," the Master pointed out. "You were in agonized pain for weeks after I made things more comfortable for her." he tapped the metal implant at the back of the Doctor's neck. "Remember being in agonized pain?"

"Yes," the Doctor sighed.

"With the injections I can give her what she needs when she needs it. Things are going to start changing fast, and implants aren't flexible enough."

"It's just... they make me so tired."

"You're going to be tired anyway," the Master said, being annoyingly logical. "I'm cutting your work hours by half, and just be glad you're keeping that much. And don't pout at me. You know it's for the best."

The Doctor pouted anyway. He couldn't take being cooped up again.

"Tell you what," the Master said. "If you like, you can come work with me. I can keep an eye on you, and you won't be stuck in here."

"All right," the Doctor said, relieved. That was a much better idea. 

"I always have the better ideas," the Master said, smugly.

The Doctor stuck his tongue out.

* * *

He'd told himself he wasn't going to help. He was just going to keep the Master company, and hand him things he asked for. But it was such a glaring error. He kept thinking about it and wanting to correct it and having the correction in his head and still not saying anything. The Master obviously knew what he was thinking, but he was pretending not to notice. 

"You said you didn't want to help," the Master reminded him, from the other side of the room. "And yes, I'll correct it."

"Good. I mean, don't correct it. I mean-- argh!" he growled. He just couldn't look at all those equations and temporal engineering formulas and not think about them. 

"Do you want to go to your suite?" the Master asked.

"No," the Doctor said, certain of that. "I want to stay here."

"All right," the Master said, being irritatingly smug. "Do you want a blindfold?"

"I do not want a blindfold. I want you to stop tricking me into helping you."

"I did no such thing," the Master protested. "Did I force you to optimize the trans-temporal flow control?"

"It was just... sitting there, being blatantly un-optimized," the Doctor said. "It's like... evil apples."

"Excuse me?"

"Garden of Eden. God just happens to plop a tree full of evil apples right in the middle of the garden, puts two curious humans down next to it, and then says: this yummy fruit? Don't eat it."

"I'm God in your little story?"

The Doctor gave him a look. "It's just an example."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it the tree of knowledge? That's not exactly evil."

"Well, humans. Knowledge equals evil. You know." He shrugged. "Anyway. My point is... what was my point?"

"I'm cruelly letting you keep me company and you innocently and completely unintentionally are helping me conquer the universe."

"Yes, that is exactly my point."

There was a lull in the conversation.

"So, going to do anything about it?" the Master asked, trying not to laugh.

"Probably not," the Doctor said, slumping in his chair. "Actually, I will do something." He struggled to his feet. He was starting to feel like a penguin. "Bathroom break."

"Ah," said the Master, nodding wisely.

He found the toilet, and used it with great relief. "Must you use my bladder as a punching bag?" he asked his daughter. Six weeks left, and he was really certain that there was not enough room in him for the both of them. She was growing fast now, physically and mentally. He could feel her little hearts beating so fast. He was so proud of her for making it this far. He was even proud of himself for that.

Six weeks left, and then he would hold her in his arms. And then when they were both healthy enough, they'd leave the Valiant at last and step foot on New Gallifrey for the first time, their new home. They'd already had a house set up, with all the amenities. The anticipation made every minute seem like forever and rush past in a blink at the same time.

He stretched his back and decided to go for a walk, rather than go back to the Room of Temptations, as he liked to call it. He thought it loud and clear so the Master would know where he was, and received the okay. It was always good to check in, just in case. They'd been back on injections for a while now, and while it wasn't as rough as before, it did mean he wasn't his usual perky self. Being stuck on the table in the lab every other day again meant the return of naps, and problems sleeping, but the Master would just reach into his mind and he would have an extremely restful night. He liked falling asleep with that mental presence. It made him feel like everything would be all right. Even though there was a permanent door for the Master to use, he opened himself up for him anyway. It just felt... good.

The Master liked it, too. He said that the Doctor's mind always needed a little more tidying.

The Doctor wandered down the corridors, not really paying attention to where he was going, and then stopped. There were two Toclafane floating outside a room. He looked around, and didn't recognize this part of the ship. So absent-minded these days, he was.

Still, he was curious. That hadn't changed, even if other things had. "What's in here?" he asked the metal balls.

"Our favourite toy," said one, doing a little somersault.

"He's so much fun. Fun fun fun!" squealed the other.

"There's a person in there?" the Doctor asked, sobering. 

"Not just anyone. The last one," said the first. "Last forever and ever."

Realization crept slowly over him, and a memory that had been tucked away was pulled to the front of his mind. "Let me in," he ordered. "I just want to see."

They moved aside.

The Doctor walked slowly into the room, afraid of what he might find. The lighting was dim, but he saw the steel bars of a cell along the back wall. He turned, and was surprised to see a bank of televisions and a stereo system.

"Jack?" he called, warily. 

A figure moved out of the dark corner and pressed against the bars. It was Jack. It was Jack! He couldn't believe it.

"I thought... I thought..." the Doctor began. He didn't know what he'd thought had happened to Jack. The man could never die, so of course he hadn't been wiped out with the rest of humanity, with Earth. "You've been here all this time?"

"Hello, Doctor," Jack rasped. He looked terrible, though physically whole. Just like the day the Doctor had sent him off to die by Dalek, really. He'd look like that forever.

The Doctor walked forward, reached the bars. "Oh, Jack, I'm sorry. I didn't know. Didn't even think."

"Do you know what he's done to you?" Jack asked, angrily.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know what the Master has done to you?" There was fury in his eyes, and the Doctor took a startled step back.

"The baby. Our daughter. Of course I know." He could hardly have missed it.

"Your mind, Doctor. Is there even enough of you left to care? Earth? The universe? Any of that ring a bell?"

The Doctor took another step back, shaking his head. This was all wrong, he didn't understand.

"He's made me watch all of it. Every goddamn second. There's cameras and microphones all over your suite, the lab. He made me watch as he cut you open, took out parts of you--" Jack choked, unable to finish. "Twisted your mind. Fucked you. He's turned you into a monster, just like him."

"How can you say that?!" the Doctor said, backing away until he hit the wall. "He's not a monster. He's her father. He loves us."

"You could have stopped all of this, and you walked away. There's cameras everywhere, even in the TARDIS." Accusation dripped from every word. Jack had seen everything, all of it, and in his eyes the Doctor was the lowest traitor.

It couldn't be. The Doctor doubled over, couldn't breathe. It couldn't be. He stumbled out of the room, Jack shouting after him, and fell to his knees. He was shaking, he wanted to throw up, and his daughter was kicking and kicking and crying in his head. Something was wrong, something was _wrong_.

The Master came striding down the hall. "Kill him," he told the Toclafane, and with a gleeful cry they shot Jack dead.

The Master's arms were around him, and then there was a hand on his face, and the Master was in his head. The world went black.

When he woke up, she was gone. He panicked and struggled before his eyes even opened, but he was held down, and someone was trying to calm him.

"Shh, shh, listen to me. Listen to my voice. You have to calm down."

"Where is she?! Where is she?!" It was the only thing that mattered. He couldn't feel his daughter, couldn't hear her. He pried his eyes open, and looked around wildly, but they weren't focusing properly.

"She's all right. She's safe. You have to calm down." A blurry Master appeared in his field of vision. "I'll bring her in once you've calmed down."

"Safe?" the Doctor asked, weakly. 

"She's sleeping," the Master said. 

"Sleeping," the Doctor echoed, feeling relieved, so relieved. He couldn't remember what happened. "What happened?"

"Something went wrong. One of the implants failed, and you passed out. We got you to the lab in time, but it was safer to keep you unconscious until she was delivered."

The Doctor tried to remember. He did remember feeling terrible, remembered falling to the floor and the world fading out. Before that, though, it all went hazy. 

"We were in the lab. You went to the bathroom. It was right after that," the Master explained. 

"Oh," the Doctor said. He supposed that sounded right. There was a niggle of something else, some memory, but when he reached for it it slipped out of reach, into the dark. 

"You need to sleep," the Master told him. "You have a lot of healing to do."

"Stasis bits," the Doctor said, remembering. He could remember that. 

"They all fit back inside. Don't worry. It's just going to take some time." The Master stroked his forehead. "We almost lost you."

The Doctor's eyes focused on the Master's face. "We," he said, sappily.

"Yes," the Master said, sending happiness along the link, showing him the memory of their daughter. "She can't wait to see you."

But the Doctor was already falling back to sleep.

* * *

The Master helped him settle into their new home. Their daughter was in the playpen outside, squealing at the butterflies. 

The Doctor was still weak. All those months with the pain suppression had hidden the extent of the damage, and now he was paying the price. He suspected he wouldn't be back to full strength until his next regeneration, but he wasn't in any hurry for that. He needed to be a little more careful with his lives, so he could watch her grow up. He might even have grandchildren again, with a little luck. The pool was limited, but these were unusual circumstances. Romana had left a hairbrush behind that had both brown and blonde hair, and with a little wheedling there would be more sources for the looms, and that would be plenty for genetic diversity.

They would have to use the looms for the next one, but that was all right. In the meantime, he was going to spoil his little girl rotten.

"I'm thinking of blowing up a star," the Master said. "New Gallifrey needs a new Eye of Harmony to power it."

"No inhabited solar systems," the Doctor warned. "I mean it."

"Fine, fine," the Master agreed. "But no complaints about the ion cannon."

"That's a defensive weapon," the Doctor said.

"Uh huh," said the Master. "Nice job, by the way."

The Doctor harrumphed. "I like elegance. Weapons don't have to be ugly to be functional."

"My sentiments exactly," said the Master. He kissed the Doctor soundly, and locked the lab door behind them. 

"How's our little Allia?" the Doctor said, bending over the playpen and grinning. "Alliatareramorata."

"Must you use all the syllables? You are such a traditionalist," the Master said. It was fast becoming an old, private joke. 

The Doctor pointedly ignored him, and picked up their daughter. "Oh, look at you. Growing so fast. Thank Rassilon you're out."

"Thank the Master she's out. I'm thinking of making my name an official oathword."

"I'm thinking your ego is already too big," the Doctor replied. Allia grabbed his bangs and tried to pull them into her mouth. "Ouch. Help?" 

"I'll save you," the Master said, taking her into his arms. "I told you to cut those back."

The Doctor primped his hair back into place. "I spent a year as an old man, a week as a ridiculously old man, and almost two years in the most unfashionable clothing possible while also looking like the side of a barn for most of it. Excuse me if I want to enjoy my sense of style again."

"The suit does work for you," the Master agreed, taking in the tightly tailored cut, particularly around the arse. 

"I'm teaching her how to shield," the Doctor said, proudly. "Listen, she's barely broadcasting at all."

"Very impressive," the Master agreed. "She'll be at the head of her class, once she has a class."

"What do you think about upgrading the Archangel network?" the Doctor asked.

"You don't want me out of your head," the Master said, making it almost a question.

"Never," the Doctor said. He opened his mental doors wide, just to make a point. Even if the network someday was lost, the Master had a permanent connection. They didn't need to stay on New Gallifrey to keep that. Eventually the Master might even let him into his own mind, just a bit, but the Doctor didn't mind that it was one-way. It made the Master happy, and that was what mattered.

He felt the back of his neck, where the metal implant was. Ostensibly it had stayed in in case the pain came back, but the Master had upgraded it during his most recent lab-day. He was hoping they might try some experimentation later. The Master's new remote control for him had quite a lot of settings.

"If anything, it needs a boost," the Doctor continued. "I thought of a good idea for populace control. Something more subtle than political slogans and drumbeats. With enough power, we could broadcast out. If you must go about conquering planets at least this way you won't have to massacre them." There was also the fact that a broader network meant they could travel without the link going quiet. It would be a while before he even wanted to leave their home, but someday, and the Master would have to go away sometimes, now that the Doctor was healed. He had a universe to rule.

"What a wonderful idea," the Master said, placing Allia back in her pen. He surveyed his Empire with a satisfied smile. "Everything's worked out perfectly, don't you agree?"

"Yes, Master," the Doctor said, and awaited his reward.


End file.
